Iz Fucks Her Way To The Top: Episode 1; Part 1

CW: drugs

Iz felt like something was happening, but she wasn’t sure exactly if it was a fleeting sensation or if what she felt was what was happening. Iz had been interning for a little publishing company run by two former sharks of the elite gallery world. Of course, two men, but they weren’t completely terrible. They were paying her more than minimum wage and seemed to be grooming her for a full-time position editing. It wasn’t ideal, but Iz was satisfied for the moment. She didn’t have to smile or abide by any company credo, in fact they seemed genuinely interested in her feedback as a young woman of color.

“You understand what’s going on in a way that we never will. Some employers would see that as threatening, but what I’ve learned is that fear is counter productive. We adapt, or lose to those capable of swimming in the current of change,” Peter mused, standing beside Iz’s desk with his jacket draped over one arm, briefcase in hand. He smiled thoughtfully. Iz could see him tossing around some problem in his head. Peter was in charge of “elegant solutions” as Rodney, her other boss, would tease. Rodney was graphs and numbers to Peter’s eloquent soliloquies. The prospect of obsoletion was something Rodney tried his best not to contemplate too deeply. It wasn’t happening anytime soon, and it wasn’t his job to worry about it. Plus Peter’s upbeat optimism convinced Rodney to set his fears aside. It was Peter’s talent, and something that Rodney marveled at. The past thirteen years they had spent nurturing their little publishing house had been surprisingly undramatic. They worked as a fluid unit, taking turns directing the operation, but never seemed to struggle over whose vision was driving the ship. They were as much business partners as they were genuine friends. On Friday’s the two would stay after hours to share a drink and commiserate over the ups and downs of the week. Their joviality bled into the culture of the publishing house.

Iz collected her things, listening to Peter go on one of his flowery tangents about the power of ideas. It wasn’t that she didn’t agree, it was that she wasn’t interested in the postulations of her white business-owning boss.

“You talk about it as if we’re some mechanism and not individuals advocating for our basic rights, who have complex dreams and desires beyond those base level needs. I get what you’re saying, Peter, but we’re more than variables in some business model.” Iz stood over her desk, pausing to stretch in between organizing her pile of manila folders. Peter couldn’t contain his smile.

“There! You’ve done it again. You see? I’m always learning from you. That’s why we have to find some way to keep you.” He said it with a strange necessity Iz couldn’t quite place, masked under his typical strident cadence.

“What? What is it?” Iz assessed him with pursed lips. “Spit it out, I can tell you’re not saying something.”

A vague looked passed over Peter’s face. In a far off voice, as if the words weren’t his own he asked, “Do you like house music? Not in a Miami bro kind of way, more like--” he paused, searching for the right word, “grimey?”

Iz wasn’t sure where this was going. Was he about to give her a new project editing some dictionary-like book on some niche branch of house?

“I mean yeah, I’m into some house. I’m not super well acquainted, but it’s fun to dance to.” She couldn’t tell if she wanted the project or if she just wanted to get home.

“You wanna go to a party later? This really talented mixer is performing a set at Storm Cellar and I thought you might like it, since you’re young and hip.” Peter looked a little unsure himself of the proposition. He shook it off and smiled again, “I got an extra pass after a friend ditched me.”

Iz had never considered willingly going out after hours with a boss before. Theoretically it sounded terrible, but Peter was well— actually fun. The notion itself sent a little chill down Iz’s leftist soul. Why did capitalism create such conundrums? And why did Peter seem so blind to how hard he was sucking down that dumb bitch neolib juice.

“Hmm.” Iz squinted at Peter, unsure of where this wormhole might lead. Peter squirmed, unable to contain his jitteriness. “Sure,” Iz finally replied.

“Fuck yeah! Let me know if you need an Uber or anything getting there. I’ll email you with all the details!” Peter hurried away, back to his office.

Iz immediately felt her stomach drop, like she’d made the wrong decision, but Peter was clearly excited. How was he so upbeat all the time? Having nurturing parents who loved him, probably. Iz finished organizing her desk and gathered her things to go home. Peter leaned out of his office.

“Let’s shoot to get there around ten or eleven o’clock, okay? Best not to arrive so early.”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll uh, be in touch?” Iz walked out and took a deep breath of non office air.

Peter had sent the email almost immediately. The information was presented in such an orderly, businesslike manner, ironic given they were going to a dirty house rave. But it seemed fun. Liz took off her office gear, the clothes she wore to give off “nice negress” energy, and assessed her closet. No bra. She didn’t have to hide her nipple piercings on her off time. Arms out. She didn’t have to cover her ACAB tattoo. She pulled up her hair, revealing clean shaven sides. She threw on a ripped t-shirt and denim shorts. She didn’t shave. She wore her name chain and a pair of gold dangling earrings that accentuated her narrow neck. Under eye shadow. Sloppy smudged red lipstick.

Iz had a feeling Peter would be punctual. It was in his nature, even in something informal like this. She texted Peter.

“Look, realistically I’m not gonna get there until eleven, so let’s just call it eleven.”

“Perfect. Looking forward to it.”

Iz arrived only ten minutes late. Being punctual for work was one thing, but to party? She wasn’t going to drive herself crazy like that. Peter met her outside. It was strange to see him casual. He wore an artsy brown t-shirt with red lettering across is that read “Here and Now???”, khaki denim pants with the bottoms rolled, and high top sneakers. A little red beanie nestled on his head.. He blended into the throng of trendy partygoers surprisingly effortlessly. She waved to him, and he squinted at her, then laughed in recognition.

“You look so different,” Peter’s eyes passed across her body in analytical excitement. The tips of his ears reddened in a blush. Peter composed himself, “So! I have the tickets if you wanna go in. They know me, so we don’t have to wait.”

“Cool, yeah. Let’s do it.” Iz was nervous. She felt a little exposed. What was she doing, out as herself with her boss? What could make this situation better? A drink. Definitely a drink.

Peter and Iz strode to the front of the line and entered the venue without much friction. She hadn’t had to show an ID, they all seemed to know Peter. He wasn’t lying.

“See?” Peter grinned, brightly.

“I’m gonna get a drink.” Iz made a beeline for the bar. She wasn’t normally a drinker, but it was the least controversial choice considering she was out with her boss. Peter followed, ebullient.

“I’ll get that,” Peter said when her drink arrived, swatting away her card. “I’m just grateful I’m not doing this alone. I mean, it’s a little sad, a guy my age going to this sort of thing alone-- stag. But sometimes I just wanna dance and get lost in some dark place with a lot of people. Ya know?”

Iz focused on sipping her drink, trying to steady herself. She was nervous. Peter was making her nervous. Her neck felt hot. She wanted to rub her icy cup against her skin to cool down, but instead she took the cool hand holding the cup and rubbed her neck. Her shirt puckered a little. Iz almost thought she saw Peter lean in slightly, staring at her collarbone.

“Well, thanks. I’ll take it, as your wage slave.” Iz joked.

“No, don’t say that! At least, I hope you don’t see it that way.” He looked apologetically at her. He had such puppy boy eyes.

“God, calm down, Peter. I’m joking.” Iz feigned a smile.

“I don’t want this to be about work, but as your boss, I hope you know how much we value you and even beyond that, I just can’t tell you how much your insight has helped me to understand things--”

Iz cut him off. “God, Pete, I get it. You’re fine. Chill out.” She reached out and kneaded his shoulder instinctively. Peter froze, then calmed for a moment at her touch.

“Wow, so many talents. That’s why I need you.” Peter shut his eyes, allowing himself to sink into the massage. It was strange to see him so vulnerable.

“I bet you’d be fun on some molly.” Iz murmured to herself.

“You do that?” Peter opened his eyes, suddenly inquisitive.

“Only when I’m doing ketamine.” Iz replied, dryly.

“I think I could find that,” Peter looked off calculating, “Don’t move, I’ll be back in exactly eight minutes. Time me. I promise.”

“Okay?” Iz did as she was told and assessed the venue. It felt like a cross between a basement and a kink dungeon. The dance floor was almost completely dark aside from sparse tubes of light that cut through thick fog from a fog machine. Everyone was mostly shadows fading in and out of the darkness. Iz sipped and waited, feeling a little bit steadier with every sip. The music was better than she’d expected. She pulled out her phone, Shazaaming tracks she liked. At the seven minute mark, she checked the time. When she looked up, she could see Peter jogging excitedly toward her.

“Did I make it?” He asked, playfully.

“Actually, yes.” Iz raised an eyebrow. She cocked her chin in the direction of his left hand, tucked deep into the pocket of his jeans.

“Come over here.” Peter demanded, gesturing to a less visible corner. He stood beside her, creating a wall with their bodies. Their arms lightly touched. He opened his hand to reveal two smarties and a tiny baggie of powder.

“Let me taste it.” Iz grabbed the bag and dipped a pinky in. She popped her finger into her mouth and pursed her lips intently, then perked up. “Yeah, that’s K.”

“I’m glad you know, because I don’t. I just took what they gave me.”

“You’ve never done K or molly before?”

“Not K. Molly, yeah, but not too often.”

“Are you sure about this? I don’t want you freaking out. I’m not babysitting you.”

“I’m trusting you to be my rave guide.”

Iz wasn’t about to say no to drugs, regardless of whether or not it was her boss offering.

“Let’s go to the bathroom.”

Iz and Peter slipped into a stall together and stood facing each other. Iz pulled a key from her purse and dug a little bump from the baggy, offering it to Peter. Peter held down one nostril and snorted. At least he knew how to do that properly.

“What are you, a blow person?”

“Not anymore.” Peter said, rubbing his nose. “I haven’t been for a while. How long does it take for this stuff to kick in?”

Iz snorted her own bump and replied, “Like fifteen minutes, maybe less. Let’s do one more for posterity.”

They each took one more bump. Peter looked a little disoriented, so Iz grabbed his arm to lead him out.

“Let’s dance.” Iz decided, leading him to the dance floor.

“What about the molly?” Peter asked.

“Let’s take ‘em now.”

Peter produced the Smartie molly and Iz snatched one Smartie out of his hand. Iz was dancing. There was nothing Iz loved to do more when she was high than dance, and Storm Cellar was perfect for her to let loose. She could be invisible and anonymous. She felt the K kicking in. She let herself get lost in the crowd. Peter swayed, high and hesitant. Iz was feeling generous. She grabbed his arm and led him closer to her. He acquiesced to her direction and allowed himself to be guided. It was easy. She felt they were merging, but they were both high so it didn’t mean anything. It could have been anyone, she assured herself. Peter leaned in and nuzzled his nose against the back of Iz’s neck and placed a hand on her left hip. His other hand gathered her hair to one side, in a confident gesture. Iz felt a little chill travel down her spine to her groin. She was suddenly warm. She froze and considered everything. It was not what she had expected, except maybe it was? Perhaps the thought had lingered in the back of her mind, but she’d forced it out as an impossibility. And yet, there they were. He smelled clean, like soap and mint, and his prickly beard tickled her. She could feel the humid plume of his breath behind her ear. She leaned back, pressing her body against his. He was hard, which surprised Iz, since K has a tendency to numb and deflate. Peter moved his hand up the side of Iz’s body and lightly pressed his lips against her neck in a kiss.

“You don’t know how long I’ve imagined doing this.” Peter said, the words spilling from his mouth before he knew what was happening.

“Really?” She knew he liked her, and that they had a working chemistry, but Iz hadn’t put too much weight to it. Peter was gregarious, it was his job and advantageously, his nature. Iz turned to face him, and seeing her incredulity, Peter whipped his hands away and froze.

“I— I shouldn’t have said that. Or done anything. I’m so sorry, I’m high, which is not an excuse. I’m not asking you to excuse me. God.” Peter paled and covered his mouth with his hands.

Iz grinned at him in amusement. On the one hand, if she ever wanted to file a lawsuit, she now had plenty of grounds to. On the other, Peter was kind of cute, and there was something compelling in the ways he had touched her. It was as if he had an intuitive understanding of her body. Peter peeked at her through his hands. She walked toward him and grabbed his wrists arranging them on her hips then cupped his face and forced her tongue down his throat. Peter stiffened, then relaxed. He sucked on her tongue and sank his teeth into her bottom lip. His hands traveled around her body, exploring her back, pulling her in closer to him so that he could feel the hard metal of her nipple rings against him. He pulsed against her as he discovered her. Iz reached under his shirt and dug her hands into the back of his pants, wiggling into the waistband of his underwear. At her touch he pulsed again, unable to contain himself. This was interesting. Iz pulled back again, and assessed things. Peter gazed at her with the pained look of restraint contorting his face.

“You want to fuck me, Peter?” Iz challenged.

“I want to feel you come on my dick, Iz.” Peter was utterly serious. This time Iz blushed.

“You’re that confident you can please me?” She countered. Peter moved in toward her, close enough to whisper into her ear.

“Let me try,” He begged with his eyes, demanding with his voice.

“Where?” Iz raised an eyebrow.

“Anywhere. Here, a hotel, my apartment, a park— tell me and we’ll go.”

“Take me to your place.”

“Are you sure?” Peter eyed Iz with a combination of incredulity and starvation.

“I said what I wanted.” Iz frowned at him, “I’m capable of making my own decisions. Don’t be condescending.”

“You’re right. Yes. Um, let me call an Uber.”